Three Poems
Kristin Ravel

Let's run to the Southeast

Hold each tooth in our mouth until
it grows through our bones
as sap into cool air. Press nose
like hog and strut, sleep, sift
through scales and cleanliness. You can be
my toad popping tooth because muscles
keep twitching after death.

Could you Direct me to the Garden?

If I had a pair of scissors I could weave for you
the sharpest coat of skin.
You could wear it in red ribbons and hold it like rust catching
blank stares and katydids.


Caviar is a delicacy and you wipe
them off like a bad father.
Squirm, evolve, and pass.
Give me something other than my hands.